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Innuendo

I am not like most when it comes to sex. Most use it as a bonding experience or as a means for mutual fun. As with most things in my life, I must be in control when it comes to sex. I don’t care what physical pleasure I receive from the act. I care much more about my exertion of dominance, even if my partner does not realize that is what is happening.

I don’t begin to claim that the following reflects all psychopaths. I actually consider myself asexual. The act of sex is so trite in my eyes that I could probably go the rest of my life without it. However, when I do engage in the act, I treat it as a wonderful opportunity to dominate another person. I don’t necessarily mean through BDSM, but rather in being the driver of the action. I want my sexual partner to be fully under my control as I get them to react in ways they don’t even realize. I want to be in total control.

I quickly learn what makes them react in pleasing ways. The touch, the bites, the words spoken all lead to the other person quickly losing their sovereignty. It is consensual, of course, but they are still putty in my hands. I take great joy in watching them become mere animals as I poke and prod and find their weaknesses. I’m damn good at what I do, but not for the reasons they would hope. It is not that I care about their enjoyment or am trying to strengthen any existing bonds. I want to see them completely broken down into their primal emotions in such a state that they would dare not allow themselves be seen in outside of the bedroom.

When they try to please me sexually, I go along for the ride. I pretend that they are the best; I tell them so. However, honestly I could do without. I care no more for them than the newspaper that I forgot to pick up in the yard. I want the act to be over and to move on with much more productive things. I do realize, however, that most people want reciprocity in their sexual activity, so I make them believe that they are champions for those brief moments. At that point, I just want it to be over, I want them out of my bed, and, more likely than not, I want them to disappear unless I have some continued use for them. If they fail to do so, I will be the one to slip into the night never to be seen or heard from again.

Just because an act is consensual does not mean that the investment need be equal. Like any other white lie, my domineering of them makes them feel loved, cherished, and special, but in reality I could care less. I want to exert my dominance in a way that is not even remotely subtle. They just happen to be too plagued by their own primal animalistic state that they do not realize that they are puppets in the act.